assassin's apprentice
by pegasus writing-dragon
Summary: abused and neglected, Harry runs away and ends up doing something he had never dreamed of.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own none of the distinctly HP characters or places mentioned in this story. Unfortunately, that honour still belongs to JK Rowling. The plot (or attempt at one) is mostly mine though.

At the age of 4 and a half Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world was, like other wizards his age, starting to more frequently show the signs of his magic. The Dursleys found that insults, starvation and being locked in the small cupboard were no longer working to stop or even slow the rate of events down. In an act of desperation Vernon turned to beating the boy to just before the point where he would faint every few days and leaving him in his cupboard for the rest of the time. When he had a broken bone Vernon would take great pleasure in setting it as roughly as he could to keep him in pain. At no point after that was Harry free from the feeling but his tolerance against it built until Vernon could go for longer, harder sessions. What had started as a last resort had appealed the dark side of his nature and had turned into fun, a stress reliever.

By his 6th birthday Harry had hardened and was old enough to build up defences against the mental torture which Vernon used to spice up his 'lessons'. He realised that the Dursleys were never going to care for him but at the same time he knew that by holding out against Vernon for as long as he could he was winning the battle on a different level. He was better than they would ever be in ways that they could not understand. Although it broke his heart he stopped trying to get their affections, gathering the pieces he locking them up where no one could see. Never again would he leave himself open to that sort of pain.

He had started his schooling half way through the last year learnt every thing as fast as he could. He could now write several words and had figured out how to sound out the words he didn't know when he was reading. While at school he had also realised that no one else seemed to be scared of their families and he was the only one who ever had more than accidental injuries. He could count now too and knew that out of the 35 students in his class he was the only one who wasn't scared or sickened when one of the boys, Jarred broke his arm falling out of the tree. Why worry over something that had happened to him so many times? As all of these facts built up, the anguish that had built up and was threatening to boil over slowly translated itself into anger, a cold fury, hatred for the Dursleys.

It was the week after his 7th birthday that it happened. He heard on the news that one of the higher ranking officials had disappeared and it was suspected that he had been murdered. Murder, the word struck a cord in his mind. He wouldn't kill the Dursleys but what if he, Harry ran away and pretended to be dead? If that man on the TV had run away and pretended to be killed then he wouldn't have to live with his family anymore would he? He would be free of the Dursleys forever. It wouldn't even be that hard to make it look like he had been killed. His cupboard certainly had enough blood stains in it.

In the end it was Vernon who made his plan possible for him to carry out. That very night after Harry had thought up the idea, he beat the boy for a slight and ended up cutting him severely when a kick sent the small boy into the glass door. By chance none of the neighbours were home so the smash went unnoticed but Harry, aware of the amount of blood he was loosing through the various cuts thrashed around. Although it made the glass dig in deeper the fact that he managed to get blood on paving outside the door, the carpet inside and even sliding his arm under the edge so it stained the unpolished floor boards underneath made it worth the effort. He was rather faint by the time the bleeding had slowed but pleased he had managed it. When his uncle threw him back in the cupboard he added artistic embellishment using his last oozing cut to put some handprints on the door and coated the handle, then he fainted.

When he woke the house was quiet. For several minutes he laid still to make sure there was on one around before slowly moving around to make sure he could and sitting up. Getting out was a simple matter. He had learned how to pick the lock a while ago so he could use the bathroom and occasionally get food when he was desperate. Checking carefully and keeping alert at all times he gathered some food, two shirts and a pair of shorts of Dudley's that did as trousers for him. He pulled off his destroyed and bloody shirt and tore it into pieces throwing most of it in the bin but a few of the scraps he left in the cupboard. With an exasperated sound he realised that no one would think to look in the cupboard very early on with out any help. Gritting his teeth he found a decent sized shard of glass in his side and taking his 'new' shirt off, yanked it out. He dropped to the floor instantly and first let the blood pool, then smeared it into a trail under the door, joining it to the ones he had made before. With a tight, pained smirk he pulled the shirt back on. Now for the final touch.

He half walked half stumbled to the telephone calling Grunnings and asked for Mr Vernon Dursley. When his uncle picked up the phone Harry laughed and told him who he was, asking him what he was meant to do if he was home by himself and the TV blew up. At Vernon's yell he hung up, immediately dialling the emergency number he poked at one of his wounds so he could manage to cry convincingly. When he was asked what was wrong he screamed, gasped out,

"Please! Privet drive! Help me!" and screamed again, dropping the phone to the floor and kicking the plug out of the wall. A little guilty that he had tricked them when they were trying to help. He went as fast as he could out the door and down the road.

_So how do you like the start? Please review and tell me if it sucks or not so I can decide what to do with it._


	2. Chapter 2

Cha2 

For the next year Harry lived his life one day at a time. Always hovering outside everything, careful not to be noticed too much and always moving around so he could eat and not be remembered. His hair grew long because he didn't trust anyone to cut it for him but he didn't let himself get too shabby, stealing new clothes when he needed them. As he grew he began to watch people more, learning their mannerisms and taught him self to read faster and more fluently. Watching every one bustle from one place to another, buying things and talking of events to come, Harry started to feel left out and utterly useless. Even the others who lived on the streets seemed better than him, they could get what ever they wanted by force or wile and they normally had some one that they could talk to or just sit with for some company. This feeling grew until he came across a group of thugs who in-avertedly showed him that he did have an advantage in life, he was smaller, more agile and courtesy of his uncle, he didn't feel pain or cold as much as anyone else.

With this knowledge he began to train himself. He would stalk people that interested him to learn more about them. Teaching him self to walk silently through the crowds, to go unnoticed in almost any circumstance. Of course, at first he was always getting caught by one person or another, occasionally even by someone who had nothing to do with what he was doing. At first he thought that it was all about not being seen by the target but he soon realised that that was just the tip of the iceberg and the trick was to fit in.

It was on one of his many tracking expeditions that he was caught out. The one to set his life on a completely different course. His target turned out to be a member of a gang who had seen him before. They turned and chased him back through the streets to the last place he had camped and blocked his path, forcing him down an alleyway. Reaching the back he jumped onto a steel dumpster and using the building leapt for the top of the wall. With a bit of scrambling he managed to pull him self up to perch out of their reach. Panting he watched them as they looked at the wall and then at him before shaking their heads and walking away. Cheering himself Harry stood and climbed onto the nearest roof making his way across them towards a new section of the city, he didn't want to be recognised again.

At one of many gaps, most of which were almost identical he stopped for a rest. Looking down he noticed a disturbance in it. The sector was one of the oldest still standing so he had expected some strange things but this looked like the stone was shimmering, the image was distorted and moving. Curious but not that daring he took several steps backward and ran, jumping the gap with ease, or so he thought. He had definitely put enough effort into the spring but somehow he found himself falling towards the ground. A strong white light surrounded him as the ground got closer and closer until with a small _slap_, it was gone and everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: while I do wish to take credit for the whole thing, I have to admit that JK Rowling owns certain things which this fic is based on, Harry for example. If you don't recognise it, its mine. Cha3 

When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was that the stone work of the walls looked almost new. At the same time it was incredibly dirty, muck was built up in the streets. The alley and the buildings were in the same sort of position as they were before he was knocked out but the number of people had increase. He realised how different the times must be when a loaded horse cart pushed its way through the crowd. With a bit of investigation and some clever eavesdropping had found that he was indeed in the same city but had somehow ended up in the past. A long way in the past.

After looking around for a week or so he was familiar enough with the area to start noticing what people came and went. One person stood out from the crowd to Harry, not because he was out of the ordinary but because he fit in too well. The thing that most caught his eye was the way that no one seemed to notice that he was passing, simply stepping out of the way. Using all the survival skills he had worked so hard to hone, he followed the man back to an old wooden door off of a dark alley. After a bit straining he managed to get his magic to conceal him, a trick he'd learnt by accident the day before. It was a good thing too because the man looked around carefully before entering. Harry crept down to where the man disappeared and carefully studied the closed door. In dire need of a rest he explored the rest of the alley finding a space behind an old crate to curl up in and after checking that he couldn't be seen drifted into a light sleep.

The next day he again followed the same man and was surprised when he met with a messenger who after talking quietly with him for a time, obviously negotiating something, handed over a jingling pouch. Thoroughly intrigued now, Harry continued to dog the man's steps for days, always sleeping in the same spot which he managed to smuggle a blanket into. It was four days later that he woke to see the man, who he had nicknamed Panther, leaving in the middle of the night. Although he walked like a cat (hence the name) and the door made no sound Harry was instantly awake the moment he emerged from the entrance. Peering cautiously around the edge of the box he saw Panther disappearing out of the alley. Crawling out from under his blanket he gasped at the cold air before pulling his heavy cloak around him self and setting off after Panther. After a while he found him self looking at the front of a very expensive looking house with a large iron gate protecting it. Increasingly more curious he carefully mirrored Panthers every move, striving to stay as quiet as possible. He scaled a rough patch in the stone work and clung there like a limpet as Panther checked the coast was clear before jogging around to where a window ledge came close and starting to climb to the next floor. Heaving himself on to the top of the wall he took a moment to work the ache out of his hands before moving around to the place that Panther had left the wall. Having learnt from his mistake he counted to ten after the black cloak disappeared before starting his ascent. At the top was a smaller window which was shut but not locked. Thinking and looking closely at the direction Panther took, Harry realised that if he climbed down and ran to the next window he could watch and still have a good chance of staying hidden. Doing just that he saw a figure sprawled in a large bed. He watched for moment and was about to move on to the next window when the door opened and Panther stuck his head in. Immediately making him self invisible Harry sucked in a breath at a sudden thought, was he going to witness a murder? Or was it called assassination because Panther was being paid? 'It really doesn't matter.' He told himself. Closer and closer Panther slipped, his hands slipping inside his cloak, pulling out a length of material. Gently, he reached over and laid it over the sleeper's mouth, causing the person to sit straight up with a sharply indrawn breath.

"Squeal, and your dead." Panther growled harshly as he jerked the material into the half open mouth and tied it off tightly. With the leftover he made a blind fold and pulling a second piece out he roughly bound the person's hands. With out another word Panther forced his prisoner out of bed and after throwing a cloak around his shoulders frog marched him out the door. Carefully hiding his shadow and making sure he was still invisible Harry waited. Before long Panther was out and had the other man sitting on the wall. After a few seconds of wondering he was forced to slip off the wall and cling to the side again when Panther walked towards where he was perched. It soon became clear to Harry how the prisoner was going to get to the ground when he was dragged to where a large branch hung over the wall. Pulling out a dagger panther reversed it and gave the other man a carefully judged blow to the back of his head, rendering him unconscious. A rope was quickly pulled out, looped around the bound hands and used to lower him to the ground. Picking up his prisoner Panther quickly made his way back to his door. Harry waited for a minute before sneaking down to his hideaway and immediately falling asleep.

The week after the little midnight adventure was a real trial for Harry. At 8 and a half his idea of morals was still shaky and half formed but he did know that taking that man from his home was a bad thing. Even though he was only taken to another persons house and locked in the cellar. By the end of the week he had seen Panther break into two more houses and steal paper from one. The other he searched for a while but what ever he was looking for wasn't there. This made Harry start to wonder what was going on. He was starting to get used to the idea when he made the biggest mistake, while he was tagging Panther late at night, he let his mind wander too far and ended up tripping over a pile of dung which immediately attracted Panther's attention. Dropping to the ground Harry tried to make himself invisible but his panic meant that he only managed to thicken the shadows.

"I know you are there." Panther called moving closer. "Stand and tell me what you are doing here."

Harry just laid as still as possible, hoping that Panther would keep going but instead he moved closer and pounced on Harry, yanking the small boy up and holding a knife to his throat. After dragging him into the nearest alley Panther flung him to the ground, the wall behind Harry meant that the only way out was passed an angry man holding a knife.

"Alright, who are you and how long have you been following me?" he snarled.

Harry just shook his head and stepped back into the wall; if he was going to escape he would have to use his brain. Panther moved closer, step by step until he was standing almost directly over Harry.

"Pathetic," Panther said, "Absolutely pathetic." He glanced over his shoulder for a second and Harry quickly used it to his advantage. He launched from his position using the wall for added spring and slid passed the startled man, calling his invisibility into action. Something whizzed by his ear, narrowly missing and swearing from behind showed that Panther knew. A sudden pain in his shoulder made him gasp and lose his concentration. Harry leapt around the corner anyway and stood in the first doorway he came to. Reaching behind him he found the hilt of a blade sticking out of his shoulder. Luckily when he pulled it out he found that it had just gone into the muscle and nothing vitally important. Panther stuck his head out of the alley as Harry lent forward to pull the blade out stood and watched the boy as he carefully extracted it and flexed the muscle to see that it still worked. This was not what he was expecting when he heard the stumble. Sure the boy felt light when he dragged him into the alley but he looked barely seven years old and better dressed than the average street rat. His long, dark hair was messy but had seen a comb that day and his cloak, though dirty was sturdy and in fairly good repair. The resourcefulness of the child made him shake his head, it wasn't often that someone outsmarted him and rather than getting insulted over it he felt that it could be a grand opportunity. After all, he him self had started as a gutter rat and look at him now.

Cautious in how he approached the boy this time, Panther took a single step forward. When the child made no movement he took another, moving into open sight.

"Well done. I promise you that I will not harm you again intentionally if you chose to stick around. Come to my home now this is no place to have a discussion. You may keep the knife for now if you don't have one of your own."

Harry just stared at him for a minute. All the time he had spent following Panther meant he had a fairly good idea of what to expect. With a nod he wiped his blood off of the blade, stepping further into the light catching the man's dark eyes in an honest stare before turning and starting towards the alley he was camped in. He could tell without looking that Panther was following and he hadn't even reached the next junction when he appeared in Harry's peripheral vision. The street was as silent as a graveyard until Harry stopped at the door. Panther looked at him suspiciously, wondering how long he had known. In answer to the unasked question Harry walked down to the crate and slid in behind it. When Panther checked he saw the nest that Harry had made and realised the sort of timeframe he had been trailed for. That was another amazing feat for a gutter rat. That had to have been there for at least a week if not more. Opening his door he waited until Harry had gone in before entering himself and shutting it firmly behind them.

The space they entered was a large room by local standards with a two foot square window facing the street, a fireplace hung with cooking utensils, a decent sized table and a bed against the far wall. Two wooden chairs were pulled up at the table and a third was in front of the fire. Making his way over to the fireplace Panther lifted a pot from the small work bench and inspected its contents. Apparently ok with what he saw, he pulled out a few wilted vegetables and a lump of what appeared to be salted beef and diced them, dropping them into the pot with a series of small splashes. While he was working Harry studied him closer. His hair was a dark brown, almost the same shade as his eyes and was cropped fairly short. His face in the light of a candle was lean and hard but Harry thought that he couldn't be any older than perhaps thirty at the most. Hanging the pot on a hook over the glowing coals he turned and beckoned Harry over to the table, seating himself on the opposite side.

"Firstly what is your name and how long have you been tracking me."

Harry opened his mouth a few times without making a sound before forcing out an answer in a voice croaky from lack of use.

"I called Harry. I started watching you three days before you took the man from the big house."

He sat totally still for a minute in shock, this boy, Harry was even better than he thought. He was suddenly glad he was talking to him, that was an ability which would come in handy in his profession. Training seemed to be a must now, potential like that should never be wasted. On second thoughts though it was fairly obvious that he had learnt a fair amount about him because he didn't look like the type who would trust at all easily and the only reason he would have come so quickly was if he knew he stood a good chance of surviving.

"Right, my name is Branthon. Where do you come from?" he asked in a more friendly tone.

"I'm not really sure." He didn't think it would be very prudent to go telling someone like this that he was from a future time. "I don't even know how I came here. I do know that I have been learning to survive on the streets for ages, longer than a year but I don't know what city I was in."

With a look that said he didn't believe that, Branthon dropped the question, he could ask again when he knew the boy a little better.

"What would you say if I offered to teach you my profession?" He asked.

Harry just stared. There had to be a catch some where, why would someone want to train him? Did Panther, no Branthon really think he could be good at something?

"Why train me?"

"Boy, I need to pass on my knowledge to someone. I'll be honest with you; it is a difficult line of work with a lot of risks and only the best last very long. From what I have seen you have the ability to go right to the top." At Harry's questioning glance he continued. "Now don't let it go straight to your head but you are the first person to manage to both stay unnoticed while trailing me and to have managed fool me into being that lax in my watch."

"Really?" Harry was surprised by that. Even though he knew the Dursleys had never told him truth about anything, it was still hard to forget things that had been drilled into him since the day he went into their 'care'. The major ones of these included words like 'useless', 'good-for-nothing', 'lack-wit', and plain old 'stupid'. Nothing he had ever done had pleased them and he never had enough proof from anyone to go against this judgement. Now he could say that he had done something that no one else had managed. For a moment he was so proud of himself but then he remembered that he had been caught and that it was only one event. It could have just been a fluke and if he wanted to prove himself to the world he would have to do it again. He could do it, he would put in every thing he had, he would become the best he could but he would never become like what the Dursleys were.

Branthon watched the emotions flicker over Harry's face and wondered what was going through the boy's mind. Shock was closely followed by pride which made him wonder if he was going to have to deal with arrogance. When sadness appeared next and then anguish he realised that it was not the case and that the child had not had a pleasant start to life and would not respond well to punishment. The only emotion which caught him out was the fierce determination which settled on the grubby face, setting his startling green eyes ablaze.

"I would really appreciate your teaching me sir. I suppose I will be staying here?"

"Yes, if you work hard I will be able to provide food too, but if you don't then we will both be in for a lean time. I don't have any more jobs at the moment so we can start tomorrow. But first, dinner you go out and get whatever you have in the alley and I'll dish up some food."

Opening the door carefully Harry looked around before making himself invisible and silently slipping behind the crate. He looked at what he had and figured that it was a good thing he had found that other shirt. Apart from that and his woollen blanket the only thing he had was a thin gold chain that had a silver and gold pendant in the shape of an ornamental 'P'. He had found it in a tiny box marked 'dangerous' in the attic of his uncle's house with a letter from a guy called Albus Dumbledore. Somehow he had known that it was his and had taken it, never leaving it behind or selling it even when he was starving. Putting it on he gathered the shirt and blanket and after checking that no one was watching he darted out and into the room that was to be his home.

The stew that Branthon had cooked was hearty and quickly filled Harry's usually empty stomach and after his stressful evening he quickly drifted off into a light doze by the warmth of the fire.

AN: sorry about the delay between chapters. I have been having a lot of trouble transferring anything from my laptop to the school computers and I figured I had less chance of losing access to the computers if I waited until this weekend when I could go home. I have also put some new stuff on 'Lessons for life' if you want to read it.


	4. Chapter 4

Several times that night Harry awoke briefly before drifting off again the first being less than ten minutes later when Branthon left to do whatever it was that he had intended before Harry had interrupted him. The next when he returned and all the others when ever he sensed Branthon getting within half the rooms distance of him. Even if he wanted to, there was no way for him to harm Harry with out his knowing. The knife that Branthon had thrown at him was next to his blankets through out the whole night and when he got up the next morning he sat it on the table.

Branthon was not the only reason for the broken nights rest. The knife wound hadn't bled much because of the shirt which was pushed in by the blade. As Harry tried to warm up under the blanket, the thin cotton was shifted and pulled painfully away from the edges.

Harry hadn't been sitting at the table for very long when Branthon woke and slipped out of bed pulling on a pair of pants before stretching his back with a loud crunch. Seeing him looking so relaxed Harry also dropped his guard a bit. When the hide cover was pulled off the window only a dim light entered but it was enough that Harry could see quite clearly. Although the shirt he was wearing was loose Harry could tell that he was strong with broad shoulders and built lean and straight as one of the arrows he had noticed in the corner next to a small bow.

"Tomorrow if you get up first, make sure you build up the fire so we can start on breakfast." Branthon told him as he did just that. Walking over to the table he sat down while the wood caught and got burning, considering the boy in front of him. He seemed honestly eager to please, looking ashamed that he hadn't thought to tend the fire. He had also cleared up the place where he had slept, folding his blanket and cloak neatly near the wall out of the way. Harry's only other possession was an expensive looking necklace which he reminded himself to ask about later. As the fire started to burn down into coals he stood and made them gruel, not the tastiest of foods but one which would keep them both going.

'Oh well,' he thought. 'There should be some honey or something around here somewhere, not that it really matters.'

As they ate he noticed that Harry was trying to keep from pulling faces at the food as he forced it down. It was good that he would take what he was given without complaint but at the same time Branthon made a mental note to make something else for breakfast tomorrow morning.

When they had cleaned up Branthon asked some more about Harry's past life, focusing on what he knew and had learnt. For Harry it was a challenge to answer honestly as he could without revealing that he was in fact from the same place, just hundreds of years in the future. They both managed though and after a short deliberation on the topic Branthon decided that weapons, for both defence and attack were high priorities.

Walking over to the fire place he found a stick of the approximate size of a good throwing knife and whittled out a distinguishable hilt. He explained to Harry that the first step with knives is learning where and how to hold them followed by learning how to get them out of their sheaths. Even if Harry couldn't hit a target with any part of it he could still use it for protection. Over and over Branthon drilled him on the same motions until he was certain Harry would strike out but he never did. A few times when they stopped for a break he would go over and sit on his blanket in the corner, close his eyes and tense up sitting with out moving a muscle for almost a minute. When he let his breath out slowly and opened his eyes all trace of anger, pain and frustration was gone. He was certain it was still there but pushed to one side, locked away where it wouldn't affect him to be dealt with when he had the time. That a child of nine would already have this defence mechanism so well set out gave him another clue to the past. After a few hours of this Harry could pull the 'dagger' and have it in his grip correctly for defence, attack and throwing.

To give him a break they went for a walk into the city to meet few people and get a bit of money. After returning Branthon's favourite blade to him, they needed a dagger for Harry. After walking randomly through the crowded streets for a few hours, they entered a black smith's work shop. The heavily muscled smith greeted them jovially and invited Branthon inside for a drink. Harry's eyes were instantly drawn to the many items hanging around the walls. Blades of all shapes and sizes from a single great broadsword which Harry was certain was for decoration to tiny throwing knives and many others in between. Here and there amongst these were horse shoes of varying sizes and assorted buckles. So many of the objects were unfamiliar to Harry especially the specialised blades but he knew better than to touch any of them. Instead he walked around with his hands behind his back looking at every thing.

It was several minutes later that Harry made it to the rear of the building. Still entranced he moved slowly over the ground he had just covered, checking to see if he had missed any of the marvellous objects. He had almost made it back to the door when Branthon and the smith re-entered the room from the smith's living quarters. As they moved closer Harry turned and walked quickly over to them, standing quietly to one side. The smith watched him closely for a time before speaking.

"So, you need a knife do you? I suppose you have had a look at everything in here?"

"Yes sir." Harry answered quickly.

"Did anything in particular catch your eye?" before he replied Harry again looked at the small blades. It seemed that now he had to choose, one of the smallest knives was glowing, pulsating in time to his heart. Glancing back at the men he hesitantly moved over to where it hung and stretched as far as he could, just brushing it with the end of his fingertips. At the contact a pleasant tingle ran down his arm, making it twitch and knock the dagger off its hook. Automatically he sidestepped and twisted to catch it by the hilt as it fell. Spinning around he went back over to where they others were watching him from. When he offered it to them hilt first with the flat of the blade resting along the inside of his arm Branthon was the one who took it out of his hands. He examined it closely, testing the weight, balance and edge before nodding sharply to Harry with a pleased expression. The smith accepted the blade from Branthon with a soft smile.

"Ahh, yes." He said. "I remember this one. It was made by one of my first apprentices, a strange sort of fellow, luck seemed to follow him every where. Unfortunately it ran out of him one day and he got killed by a wild dog after breaking his leg on a trip through the country-side. I'll let you have it for, lets say, a gold?"

"Ha, that knife isn't worth half of that. Three silvers at the most."

From there they settled into the long practiced art of haggling. Harry half listened to them for a while but he was soon distracted by a loud clatter outside, shod hooves on cobblestones. Through the open door he could see flashes of grey, brown and white hide, all of it sweaty and foamy. Over the rest of the noise he could hear the snorting breath of the horses as they were jogged through the streets. He could imagine himself riding one of those proud beasts through town too, the long silky mane flowing in the breeze and over his hands. The proud head tossing, pulling at the reins which he held firmly but softly in his hands. By the time they had passed the haggling was done and for two extra silvers he managed to get a leather sheath and a good quality belt to go with it. As the smith went to put his hand on his shoulder, Harry flinched and jumped out of reach. The older man looked surprised for a second but recalled what Branthon had told him about the boy appearing to have been abused and let it pass. He had good reflexes though and was polite too, the thing that had surprised him the most was the fact that the boy had gone straight to the knife that he did.

There were other blades around that were fancier, a few even had jewels on them but Harry never looked twice at them. It was a good little blade but few before had even considered buying it and it had been on that wall for over a year. For not only was the apprentice who made it extremely lucky, strange thing happened around him fairly often. This blade for instance had remained heated for twice or three times as long as it should have while it was being beaten into shape. The smith shrugged to him self and pulled his thoughts back on track.

"You chose well boy, in both your blade and master. Work hard and trust in your self and your knife and there will be few ways you can be caught out." With his piece said he nodded a farewell to Branthon and strolled back to his living area.

"Come along then Harry, we have more work to do before dark."

On the walk back to their home neither of the two said a word, content with watching the jostling crowd that surrounded them. At one point the press was that bad that Harry ducked in behind Branthon to keep himself from being trampled. The entire journey went fast for Harry who kept one hand one his new knife at all times. The injured shoulder had been getting more and more painful as the day wore on and when he checked the temperature of his forehead under the pretence of brushing the hair out of his eyes, it was warmer than usual.

'Oh, great.' He thought. 'It's getting infected, that's the last thing I need right now.'

As they walked he tested the reach and flexibility of his injured arm and tested just how much pressure he could put on it before it became a distraction. The distance was considerably less than it had been when the injury was new. They were almost back at the alley when Harry asked him self if he was going to trust Branthon with the knowledge of extent to which he was injured. In the end he decided to wait a while to see if it would get too much worse. It did.

During their lesson the next morning the decision to wait was taken away from him. Branthon was surprised to see that the boy's aim was getting worse and worse throughout the morning and he kept breaking into a sweat on the harder throws. After an hour he was no longer getting any where near the target and Branthon called time out. While he boiled the kettle and made some tea he watched Harry closely. The boy was sitting stiffly not leaning on anything, thinking back over the morning he hadn't once turned his back to Branthon while he was looking. A possible reason came to his mind and he resolved to somehow get a look at the place his throwing knife hit the boy at their first meeting. Pushing that train of thought to the back of his mind he finished making the tea and gave Harry his cup.

All through the next section of the lesson Branthon noticed the same thing again but not once did he get a clear look at the boys back. Once again when Harry's aim was getting to the point of ridiculous he called a halt and instead of resuming with throwing he suggested that he gave Harry an introduction into the finesse of hand to hand combat. Standing directly in front of him, Branthon showed Harry some defensive stances and then set about showing the boy how to use them. At first Harry was fine with doing this but as they fought, he started getting more and more defensive on one side. Finally fed up with trying to manoeuvre him into revealing the shoulder Branthon called a halt to their training.

"Come over here," He ordered the stubborn boy. "And turn around." Hesitantly Harry did so, preparing himself for another attack. He was therefore ready when the older man reached forward and lifted his shirt, only emitting a low growl when the scab pulled at the point where it had stuck to the material. "I didn't think I had missed. We are going to have to clean this if it is going to heal properly and fast, it is starting to get infected."

When Harry had first turned around it was clear to him that his guess had been correct and that the boy had mad sure from the beginning that he had never turned his back to him without wearing the cloak. Blood from the wound had soaked through the thin material of the shirt sticking it to the edges of the tear. He noticed that the reason that the blade hadn't done as much damage was that it had hit the boys shoulder blade, chipping the bone, but failing to penetrate further. At the same time, when he pulled the blade out he had to put a bit of effort in, making the wound even bigger. As he lifted the shirt up to where it stuck he heard to boy growl faintly and felt the slight tremor go through his muscles, he felt a new level of respect for the child. Red lines of infection had started forming and what little of the wound he could see was swollen, surrounded by heavy bruising. The infection would have made it all the more painful, he was fairly sure that even he would have trouble hiding the pain so well. Shaking the thoughts from his mind he ordered Harry to sit backwards on a chair in front of the fire so he would have enough light to work. Walking around the room he picked up a bowl which was soon half filled with water from the kettle by the fire and a strip of cloth which he used for many things but was clean enough to put under a bandage. This was placed near the fire place and the fire was stoked up, the flames roaring with new life.

"This shirt has to come off, do you have a spare you can wear until I can get you another?" Branthon asked. When Harry nodded, some what stiffly he continued. "Good. Now this is going to hurt and I may have to wash it out with something else but for now I am just going to use water. I realise that we have only just met and that I was the one who gave this to you in the first place so feel free to tell me to stop. You don't have to trust me, you just have to let me do this."

The wound must be affecting him more than I thought, Branthon said to himself as the boy responded with another nod. He worked quickly, using a cup to splash water onto the area which slowly softened the caked blood. As soon as he could he took hold of the top of the material and put some pressure on it. As the scab loosened the shirt moved and Branthon was able to work on new parts. It was not going to be any more painful for the boy he decided, if he went faster and tore the edges a bit. It might even do some good as the blood would help to wash any muck out. with this in mind he increased the pressure, pulling it free in under half a minute.

With a grunt Harry stood, quickly stepping out of reach and spun to face the man. He watched closely as the useable parts of the shirt were cut away from the rest and the scraps thrown in the fire. When this was done Branthon called him back over to the chair.

"We just have to wash it now and put a bandage on it to keep most of the dirt out of it."

A short while later it was clean and Branthon was carefully wrapping the bandage around his entire body to keep the clean material in place. Harry sat as still as possible while this was being done but as soon as the end was tied he leapt off the chair and was sitting on his bed in an instant. For him it was like loosing some sort of battle as he struggled to stop the pain and fear from showing. His hands just wouldn't stop trembling as he fought the urge to burst into tears like a normal child. There was no way the he could afford to let that happen. There were so many ways that Branthon could take advantage of his weakness.

The man himself was watching the child rather closely and noticed that his brilliant green eyes had taken on a glassy shine. At the same time the small face was a mixture of emotions and his rest of his body was shaking slightly. For someone his age the boy sure was good at hiding things, but not good enough. Being what he was Branthon had trained to identify these things as clues to aid him in what ever task he had been assigned. Deciding to try and help the boy he poured small amount of the only thing he could think of that would be any help at all, alcohol. It would make it easier to forget about the pain and would improve the chance of the boy getting some sleep which he would need to regain some of his strength.

"Drink this." He said handing the mug to the boy. "Slowly, the whole lot." The mistrust was plainly evident as Harry accepted the mug and took a sip. Branthon's amusement was well hidden but most definitely present at the look on the boys face when the bitter liquid hit his tongue. He fought back the laughter and hide the smirk behind an almost perfect mask. With another shudder Harry handed the cup back and stood to set his bed out, crawling in as soon as he could. He was still nervous and rightly so as he settled into the only position that his injury would allow, flat on his stomach. Looking closely Branthon could see where the new knife was wedged half under the pillow and had no doubts that if he were to walk over there now it would be in Harry's hand almost instantaneously. Nodding his approval of this behaviour, he got a drink for himself and settled back into a chair by the fire, sipping at it as he watched it burn its way out.

A/N: It's amazing, magnificent and highly unlikely to happen again but I have managed to update both my stories in a matter of days. I hope that this is up to standard and apologise for any spelling errors in this and my other story. At the moment I don't have a beta reader but my biggest problem is that the 'O' key on the laptop is temperamental, choosing not to work sometimes. I have adjusted my spell check to compensate for this but it doesn't pick up single letters as a problem, it is so hard to pick them up in your own work.

Please review and feel free to comment or criticise if you feel that I could improve my story in some way. I may not act on it but I would like to know what you think.


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